The First Eighteen
by Chaser14
Summary: Before PrincetonPlainsboro, before Stacy, before medschool, Gregory House was just a really smart kid with an attitude problem. Unfortunately, as House realizes years later, the first eighteen years will make or break you.
1. Birth

This is the second House fic I've written. The first was a Christmas oneshot, so I didn't have to do much research. This one, however, will delve into the childhood of our favorite anti-hero. It will go from birth to age eighteen (and not a day over.) I'm trying as hard as I can to get all the facts straight—if you see some major problems then just let me know. The piece will be 5 chapters long. I know that's pretty short, but I'm not good at keeping up with long pieces. I hope you'll forgive me!

This first chapter deals only with House as a newborn so it isn't terribly interesting. I'm mainly just trying to introduce you to his parents and aunt (who will actually play a pretty big part) and set the tone. Since House is a baby there won't be any thoughts or feelings to write about.

Hope you enjoy!

P.S. The show isn't clear whether House's birthday is June 11th or Dec 21st, but I liked the idea of him having a summer birthday so I chose to go with the June 11th. Hope you don't mind!

Chapter One

It was June 11th, 1959. It was by no means a remarkable day. For billions of people, the hours would come and go just like they always had. The residents of Ohio would drive their cars along the interstate, wave to each other from their suburban stoops, and watch an episode of "The Ed Sullivan Show" before turning of their porch lights and tucking in to bed. But for John and Blythe House, it was the most earth–shattering day the world had ever known.

Blythe House, an attractive woman of twenty-four, held a newborn baby in her arms. The baby squirmed and made gurgling noises, but the new mother just rocked and shushed the little boy until he hushed up. Behind her stood a proud, tall, handsome man of twenty-six. He stood looking down upon his new son with gleaming eyes. He smiled—a rare sight in those days. John House had never been happier than he was right at that moment. Not even his wedding had been such a wondrous event.

The two shining parents were robbed of their special moment when a doctor walked into the room. "He is a beautiful baby, is he not?" asked the white coated man.

"Oh yes." Blythe said, looking down at her son.

"And what name will this beautiful baby have?" The doctor asked kindly.

John answered for his wife, who was still memorizing every inch of her brand new child. "Gregory James House."

"Gregory." Blythe echoed, raising one hand to stroke the soft cheek of the boy. "A beautiful name."

"A strong name," John corrected. "He'll be a marine just like his father." If it had been at all possible, John looked even prouder than before as he said the words.

"Oh hush," Blythe said, annoyed. "He'll be whatever he chooses to be."

John was too happy to argue his point. "I can tell he'll be strong." John said. "All the House men were strong."

Blythe chuckled. "I'm sure he will, sweetheart."

The doctor in the room, having finished charting the boy's information, turned to Blythe. "I need to discuss with you the complications that happened during the birthing."

Blythe's eyes suddenly turned dark. When she spoke, her voice was lower and full of emotion. "The other doctor told me I wouldn't be able to have any more children. Is that true?"

There was a pause as the doctor shifted his weight awkwardly. "I'm afraid so, m'am. The emergency surgery we performed on you made it impossible to carry another child. I'm sorry." The doctor turned and left the couple to process the horrible news.

Blythe cried. The tears did not come sobbing out in an out of control way. They were quiet, running down her face in a personal statement of defeat. John placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We should be thankful we have Gregory, honey, and that he's safe."

She nodded and wiped the tears off her face. "You're right. This is a time for celebrating." As if on cue a boisterous woman bombarded into the room. She was wearing brightly colored pajamas and her hair was flying out of large clip. "John! Blythe! Oh how adorable!" Each word was spoken louder and louder, with the final syllables coming out in a screech of excitement.

"Sarah! How wonderful for you to come." Blythe said in a genuinely kind way. She was hardly ever unkind, and especially not to family.

"What? You think I would miss my—" She stopped, realizing she did not know the gender of the baby. "Well?!" she asked. "Do I have a niece of nephew?"

"Nephew." John answered.

"Ohhhhh!" she let out in another exclamation of happiness. "May I hold him?" After Blythe had nodded the affirmative, Sarah Johnson cradled the babe in her arms with expert experience. "You two can come to me anytime for help. Lord knows I've handled my fair share of newborns." She _had_ handled many newborns—five, in fact. Sarah's kids now ranged from fifteen to three, so it was safe to say she knew her way around babies.

Sarah rocked and cradled and sang him around the room. John and Blythe looked at each other, both with cocked eyebrows. It was unfortunate timing, or possibly fortunate timing, that Sarah happened to glance their way when such faces were made. "Oh dear me, what am I thinking? Taking a babe away from new parents! Here John, you hold him." She handed the baby over to the marine who was not expecting the gesture.

John House held the baby exactly the way he had been showed. John never did anything without figuring out precisely how to do it first, and this included how to care for a baby. He cradled his head and secured the tiny body in his arms. It was then that son's eyes met the father's—and that special connection was formed. He couldn't describe it. In later years he would forget how much love he had felt for the little bundle, and how special it was just to hold him in his arms knowing that it was his own flesh and blood son.

If Gregory House could have seen this scene many years later he probably would not have believed they were his parents. He would claim there was some trick or prank being pulled on him. Perhaps it was a terrible thing, but the truth was that in later years John House never showed his son more affection than he did the first day of Greg's life.


	2. Age Five

I am soooo sorry it took me this long to put out another chapter. I wrote an entire outline before I started, but I was just having writer's block about how to get from one point to another. I've been adding like a paragraph at a time since last Christmas. Finally I thought I should just finish the stupid chapter and post it. I'm going to try to put out another one, but you know how good I am at that!

Please enjoy. I really will try to get on that chapter. Because of the subject matter, it should be a little easier writing.

--

Now that I have disclosed the telling of Greg's unremarkable birth, it is time that you learn of his rather remarkable childhood. I hope to relate faithfully the events and feelings of Greg as they happened those many years ago. I think the best place to start would be during his fifth year of life.

--

Blythe observed out her kitchen window that it was one of those perfect days. In Adamsville, Massachusetts such a day was rarely found during the month of April. The temperature was blissfully mild, yet warm enough that all her young son needed to play outside was a light jacket. Greg was immensely happy for that. He hated having to "button up," as his mother referred to it.

It had been a long and snow filled winter and Greg was antsy to get outside. It's not that he minded the indoors, but at five years old he was curious to explore the new locale where his family had moved only two months prior. He had already discovered all the mysteries of their new house—from the secret paneling in the master bedroom to the contents of the locked drawer in his father's den. Greg House was ready to stretch his borders and learn all the clandestine spots and stories of the neighborhood.

He knew exactly where he wanted to begin. He had, after all, been stuck inside for two months. All he could do during the winter was study the back woods from his second floor bedroom window. Those woods had haunted him all winter. They were not like the trees he remembered back in California, where he had last lived. No, these trees were tall and close together, with branches that seemed determined to stop anyone who was wandering past from seeing their dark secrets. So of course Greg had to uncover their secret. There was one little problem—his mother.

After asking all winter to go outside and hearing all winter that it was too cold, Greg had been jubilant when his mother suggested he play outside for a while that April morning. He had promptly run upstairs to throw on his sneakers and jacket. Upon sprinting back downstairs, he heard the dreaded words—"regiment party."

Only a true military brat would know what those words meant. For Greg it meant three hours of excruciating boredom and awkwardness. It meant being glared at by his father, nudged by his mother, and hearing "Look how big you've grown!" a million times from all the Marine Corps' wives. This was not to mention the other military brats. But the worst part was that if he had even a speck of dirt on him when his father returned home in an hour, he would be facing the gallows. His father was strict about him looking absolutely his best at these parties, and that meant being squeaky clean—which meant that Greg could definitely not go gallivanting about the woods.

So now Greg was sitting on a rock in his back yard, fully aware that his mother was keeping her eye on him, and doing absolutely nothing. He observed what he could from his perch but there was not much to see. Their neighbor's lawn was littered with toys, their back screen was hanging by its hinge and he could vaguely here someone singing a truly awful toon in the house. He ached to go running in the woods, but he stayed himself by remembering there was always tomorrow.

Greg heard his father's car pull up and grimaced. His father was always in a bad mood on regiment party days. He thought that if he stayed very still his father may not notice him sitting in the backyard, but there was no such luck. "Greg? What are you doing?" Greg hopped down from the rock and went to join his father out front.

"I was looking at the trees."

John House peered down at the five year old boy. "Why don't you go inside and practice the piano for tonight."

His tone was condescending and Greg got the message loud and clear. His father was always nagging him about "being productive." But he didn't understand. Greg needed to know what was in those woods.

Never the less, Greg went inside and sat down at the piano. He liked playing the piano, surprisingly. It never ceased to amaze him that such beautiful sounds could be created by the simple pressing of keys. He remembered his Aunt Sarah telling him he was a prodigy. He didn't know what the word "prodigy" meant, but it had sounded like a compliment.

His mother interrupted the simple melody of the piano. "Greg dear, guests are here. Go open the door, won't you?"

Greg thought about simply saying, "No, I won't. Why don't you?" But decided not to pursue the argument. He hopped off the piano stool and headed for the front door. He hoped against hope that it was not who he thought it would be—

"Greggy!"

It was. The Hues. Of all the families in the regiment Greg liked the Hues the least. Mr. Hues was a condescending man, not unlike Greg's own father. He always had something negative to say about the world, and he put everyone in a bad mood. Mrs. Hues was a screechy over affectionate woman whose boisterous hugs left Greg winded.

Elliot was thirteen and a menace. It was he that always referred to Greg as 'Greggy'—a term that was severely hated. He teased him and always tattled Greg's every move to his father. Perhaps the Hues would not have been so badly looked upon if Elliot hadn't been among them.

Then there was Laurie Hues. She was five, Greg's own age, and something of a mystery. She was small and always had a teddy bear trailing from her arms. Her big brown eyes were constantly peering at Greg, as if asking a question. Once at a regiment party, she rarely left Greg's side. He once asked her why this was, and she responded simply, "Because we're friends."

Greg didn't understand much about Laurie, but he knew he did not want to be her friend. Greg had only one friend, another military brat named Craig Jackson. As Greg pulled open the door for the Hues, he sorely wished that Craig would hurry up and get there.

--

Craig didn't end up getting there until an hour later, by which time Greg had nearly lost all sanity. The adults treated him like a baby. He hated it. They were always pinching his cheeks, calling him cute, and telling him how special he was. It was enough to drive anyone to the edge.

But then the doorbell rang and the Jackson's entered. The Jackson's numbered only two—Craig and his father Arty. Mrs. Jackson had died when giving birth to Craig, leaving Arty to raise the boy himself. Sometimes these things don't work out for the better, but as it was Mr. Jackson and Craig had a good healthy relationship.

I think it is important to tell you about Craig Jackson. He was not a particularly special boy in anyway, but he helped shape Greg's character and future relationships. Consider him the precursor to Dr. Wilson.

Craig was born to Arty and Melinda Jackson, in Reich Heights, Ohio. His father was a marine, and his mother was going to be a stay-at-home mother. However, due to complications in the birth, Melinda passed away after the delivery. This might have torn at some people later in life, but not at Craig. He was an extremely logical person, one who never took responsibility for anything unless it was absolutely his fault. He was easy going and fun to be with, but never took anything seriously. Greg would later tell him that he was so busy trying not to get caught up in life that he missed it all together. Like most things Greg said, it was true. Craig wasn't smart, but he wasn't dumb either. He was an all around average person who might have been quite successful in life had he learned to take initiative. But he didn't learn. He lived an average life. Many years after he and Greg parted ways he was killed in a car accident. They said he simply missed the stop sign. What's done in life is done in death, they say.

But all these things would not be discovered for many years. For now he was just a good-hearted five year old trying to entertain his cranky friend.

--

The two had sneaked off to Greg's bedroom. They left the light off, purely for dramatic effect.

"Will this ever be over?" Greg whined.

"Dunno," Craig said with a smile. "But if it ends, that means I have to go home. So it's not so bad that it's still going.

Greg just rolled his eyes. They sat there just enjoying the pure mischief of the moment. It was broken by the door's loud creak as it was swung open.

"Greg!" His father was standing there in all his glory. He was wearing his nicest suit, and his hair was combed neatly to the side. "What are you doing up here?" He snapped.

"Just sitting," Greg said with an edge of defiance.

John House breathed in quietly and calmed himself. "The party is downstairs. Now be a good host and come join us."

Greg made a face. "What if I don't?"

"Then you'll go without supper tonight or breakfast tomorrow." He walked out and closed the door with surprising quietness. Greg grumbled. He knew that his father meant every word that he said. He would not only withhold the food, but he would give him an hour long lecture on "proper behavior."

He thought of the woods still awaiting him and decided that another hour at the party wouldn't kill him.

"Let's go," he told Craig.

Craig got up immediately and went with him, a smile on his face.

**A/N:** Thanks so much for reading. I will try my very hardest to put out another chapter, but I will make no promises. I'm really better at updating my other stories. Just something about House makes me take a long time…;)


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